


and if we can't find where we belong.

by LoudShrugging



Series: the dead (don't) stop dreaming [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, Other tags to be added, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-16 13:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21508750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudShrugging/pseuds/LoudShrugging
Summary: B-sides towe can never go home.that I can't manage to fit into the main fic.
Series: the dead (don't) stop dreaming [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1550302
Kudos: 13





	and if we can't find where we belong.

He knows when bad news is coming, has a sixth sense for shit almost as strong as the Tenth’s famed intuition (not that Hayato would ever say that out loud). Hayato knows even before the Tenth handed him that origami piece of a note that something had gone horribly wrong. As the Tenth disappears through the portal of their classroom, his hands tremble with trepidation, unwrapping his ill begotten gift with a silent prayer on his lips.

It might strike some as strange that Hayato dearly wished for the news to be another world ending ploy. Maybe that fucker Byakuran was back to his old shit again and Hayato would finally get a chance to punch the bastard in his ugly mug. Maybe the Vindice were back and threatening the balance of the universe with their incessant need for vengeance.

It should be really disturbing how much Hayato loves catastrophic disaster. That means fighting and that’s familiar territory where he can prove himself, put his body — the only worthwhile thing he owns — on the line over and over again. 

At age eighteen with more battles than most adults under his belt, warfare is impossibly easy. What actually lies ahead, well…

“Are we waiting for Tsuna?”

Passing students try not to stare too much when they only see two instead of three. 

“No, baseball idiot,” Hayato snaps. He wants a cigarette to stave off the unease bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Fuck quitting smoking. “The Tenth is probably halfway to Italy right now.”

He instinctively puts his hand in his back pocket where he usually keeps his cigarettes and clicks his tongue when he finds it empty. Right, no smoking. The Tenth would be disappointed in him if he gives in and that is unacceptable. Instead, he chews harder on the big wad of gum inside his mouth, bristling at the thought of being left behind.

“Oh? Are we playing the mafia game again?” Yamamoto’s eyes light up in excitement. “Who are we going to fight this time?”

“For the last time, _it’s not a game._ ” Hayato explodes. He glares at all the students stopping to stare. Burned by the fury in his eyes, activity resumes _doppio più mosso_ around them. Gokudera clenches his hands in a fist, shaking with the effort it takes not to deck the baseball freak in the face.

He grumbles about explaining later, taking a mental tally of his comrades. 

Chrome’s already gone. She always seems attuned to the things happened around her — even more than him. No doubt she went to tie up her own ends. 

The stupid lawn head will have to be informed. He’s really tempted to leave Sasagawa behind, if only so he only has to contend with Yamamoto. That’s one less idiot to fight with. Either way, Sasagawa will make him explain everything three times over (if he’s lucky), so Hayato isn’t even sure why he’s wasting his time. 

(He has to — the Tenth is counting on him.)

Hibari is already a lost cause (he’s doubtful the prefect would be interested in the news but he’ll track the blood thirsty bastard down later if only because duty calls). 

They’re not involving Lambo in mafia business anymore until he’s of age and understands what he’s fighting for and that suits Gokudera just fine. 

Either way, it’s not his fellow guardians that Gokudera worries about. 

“Did you guys see that Extremely fancy car parked outside during third period?” Sasagawa starts yelling before he even reaches them. 

Hayato resists the urge to cover his face with his hands. There’s a pressure headache building up behind his eyeballs that’s sure to sting later. He regrets waiting for idiot number two.

They make their way to Takesushi with relatively few mishaps.

The biggest was one small incident where Sasagawa got too excited and clocked some (probably Yakuza-affiliated) passerby. The baseball idiot jumping in only exacerbated the situation, resulting in some minor destruction that will take a little elbow grease to smooth over with the Disciplinary Committee. 

All in all pretty mild, if you ask him. If the Tenth were here, he’d stress about it because the Tenth is a good man like that, but he’s on his way to Italy now to fry bigger eggs. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

Yamamoto Sr. receives them with the usual amount of enthusiasm. Baseball freak makes idle chatter while he grabs a platter of sushi and Hayato is grateful for being spared the pain of wrangling two idiots into the privacy of the stupid swordsman’s bedroom. 

Taking their usual spots, Sasagawa immediately begins to dig in as Yamamoto roots around the room for something. Hayato takes the precious silence to calm the monster in his chest, subtly taking deep breaths to ease the tightness in his chest. 

A decade and a half of training is the only thing that allows him to catch the bottle hurling towards him. Hayato scowls, ready to bite back at the baseball freak. Hayato is ready to beat Yamamoto to a pulp over whatever game he wants to play. 

It’s only a glimpse at the label on the bottle that makes him pause.

“How did y—”

“You have that pinched look on your face,” the baseball freak laughs in that annoying way of his that implies he’s not taking anything seriously. He points at his own brow. “Two should do it,” he continues definitively, like he knows what kind of pain Hayato is in. 

He scoffs but listens, swallowing the small white Tylenol dry. Since the idiot apparently knows what the state of his head is, Hayato takes it as permission to throw himself onto Yamamoto’s bed, flipping the pillow over and face planting in it. 

The baseball freak doesn’t complain. Hayato hears the creak of the previously occupied desk chair as Yamamoto makes himself comfortable in it.

In the darkness behind his eyelids, all he hears is the ambient buzz of people moving around; a video game being turned on; the quiet tones of a TV turned almost all the way down. It’s comforting in a way he would never admit. For the first time since that cursed car rolled up at their school gates, Hayato feels the scrunch of his shoulders relax. 

Turning to face the television set, the three of them sit in silent companionship. Hayato estimates at least five minutes have passed — a near miracle, he’s about to say, but the idiot lawn head beats him to it, shattering their glass peace with a long yell of frustration. 

The headache that had been ebbing away returns with a vengeance. Hayato considers killing lawn head before it kills him.

 _“Shut up,”_ Hayato sits up and bellows, nearly matching the no brain idiot in volume. His head didn’t like that at all, but he fights the pain in favour of shouting: “Can’t we have one second of peace.” 

At least Sasagawa has the decency to look ashamed.

“So what’s going on, Gokudera?” Baseball freak interjects before the two of them can actually fight. 

Hayato groans, scooting backwards so he could become boneless against the wall. 

“The Ninth is dead,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hayato studies their faces, hoping they won’t need more explanation that those four dreaded words. “The CEDEF probably want the Tenth in Italy so the Family has someone to look towards in the Ninth’s place.” 

This is when the real work begins, Hayato thinks. He wish he could grant Yamamoto’s wish for battle. Then he wants to laugh because even him — mafia born and bred — has to admit that’sa pretty fucked up thing to wish for.

(But the memory of the future that never was still haunts his dreams He can smell the earth beneath his feet, hear ghosts circling him whispering: _you failed, you failed, you failed._ )

Sasagawa and Yamamoto put their shared brain cell to use, both their faces lined with deep thought. Hayato almost misses their stupid questions. 

“So does this mean we’re going to Italy?” 

Lawn head’s head snaps up at the sound of Yamamoto’s voice. 

“I’d plan for it.” 

Both their gazes are on him now. If Hayato didn’t know better, he’d say their eyes were shining. (They are.)

Sasagawa gives a whoop of joy, Yamamoto joins him not long after, both of them screaming in unison about vacations come early. 

Really, he doesn’t know what he expected from this bunch.

**Author's Note:**

>  _doppio più mosso_ = double speed in music notation. 
> 
> unbeta'd as usual. the next chapter of never go home is making me angery so i'm doing this instead.


End file.
